Making Fools
by Anamar
Summary: Hermione Granger isn't going to let a little thing like accidentally removing all chance of defeating the Dark Lord stand in her way. Unfortunately, even the bestlaid plans can't prevent time from making fools of us once again...
1. Prologue: We've Had Time

**Story Title**: Making Fools

**Author**: Anamar

**Story Summary**: Hermione Granger isn't going to let a little thing like accidentally removing all chance of defeating the Dark Lord stand in her way. Unfortunately, even the best-laid plans can't prevent time from making fools of us once again...

**Foreword**: I like the idea of time travel in the Potter world- it's canonical and there are so many interesting possibilities one could try to change and imagine the effects that would have on the events as we know them. So imagine my surprise when what I thought was one of the most obvious of all time travel ideas didn't seem to have been written. Now I might have missed something in my search for this type of story, so I er... came up with a very warped plot bunny. So yes, this is a time travel story. Without time turners. Without mysterious new students being taken under Dumbledore's wing. Without a real future to return to. But it is dark. And twisted. And for Hermione... Failure is _not_ an option.

**The reason for the title**: As you may have already guessed, the title is taken from Albus Dumbledore's comment in "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" that "Time is making fools of us again." The taken-completely-out-of-context meaning I'm using it for is that we're often condemned to repeat the same mistakes unless we can somehow move beyond becoming the fools of time.

**Chapter Summary**: In which things are Very Bad. And Get Worse. And the Sorting Hat bites it.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.

**Warning**: Rated M for language, violence, mature themes and adult situations. Spoilers up to and including "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince".

**Prologue: We've Had Time**

_"You said to us once before," said Hermione quietly, "that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?"_

-J. K. Rowling, Hermione Granger in "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince"

"They'll be here within fifteen minutes."

The grimoire drops from my nerveless fingers, landing with a loud thump on the floor. Cho is so calm standing there in the doorway, as if she had just commented on the weather or the tea or the state of Occupied Britain's fashions. I don't dare look at Ginny- even in my shock I can feel her freezing, losing the last threads that have held her together. I think it is only the fact that Jim is on her lap that is keeping her from bursting into hysterical laughter. Since neither Susan nor Hannah have spoken it seems that I have to ask the obvious question.

"How many?"

The tightening of Cho's lips tells me everything that I need to know.

We've been discovered.

Hannah breaks first.

"I told you! I told you we should have gotten a Secret Keep-"

"Shut up!" Susan rounds on her like a rabid dog. "And who would we have gotten exactly? Who was there left we could trust? And how would it have _helped_? With those new charms He has for detecting excessive and unusual magical activity, it would just have gotten us discovered _earlier-"_

"Enough." Very briefly I see the exhaustion in Cho's eyes before they fade back to their cool control. I ache for her, but I can't help being grateful that she's here. I don't know what we would have done without her. And now... Now I know that she will help me do what needs to be done. No matter the cost.

She glances at me and I nod slightly. We had hoped for more time, but this will be enough.

It has to be.

"Susan, Hannah- get the initial portkey relays prepared. Ginny- get the emergency bag for yourself and James. Hermione and I will finish the preparations."

And there goes the breakdown I've been waiting for.

There are definitely moments when I wish Ginny didn't have such bugger-awful timing.

"It's not ready! This was suicide to start with and now you're going to send her when it's not even _complete_! I won't let you! I can't lose her too! I can't!"

She breaks into sobs, Jim's eyes getting wide and scared as she buries her face in his hair.

"Ginny..."

I put my hand on her shoulder, trying to swallow past the lump in my throat. I know that she's being overly dramatic, but she's been through hell and back. I don't know if I could have held it together as long as she has and...

I'll miss her too.

"We don't have time for this."

Cho's voice isn't unkind, but Ginny stiffens and wipes the tears off her face. "You're right. I don't like it, but you are right."

She turns to me and, for an achingly brief moment, I see the fire and determination of the girl I used to know. "You- you are going to kiss your godson and _promise_ him that you will be back to play with him. No matter what happens you are going to come back and look after him."

I look down at Jim, his dark messy hair with those flashes of auburn, and pick him up to give him a noisy kiss. He's still obviously confused, but he hasn't made a sound- just stares at me with those far-too-old eyes.

He deserves so much better.

"You be a good boy for your mum, you hear? Always remember that I love you lots and lots and lots."

Nobody says anything when I hand Jim back to Ginny without the promise. As the last of the spark disappears under her normal dullness, I hate myself even more. But it's enough to get her moving and Hannah and Susan walk Ginny and Jim to the relay station. None of us mention that only Ginny and Jim will be using the portkeys, that Hannah and Susan will destroy them as soon as they've vanished.

Ginny will understand. Maybe someday she'll even forgive us. After all, it's not even that we're protecting her so much as we're protecting Jim.

Because if I fail, he's the only chance we have. And we all understand what that will entail.

In spite of the upsets earlier, we are all well beyond the point of false sentimentality. None of us, Ginny included, will hesitate to use whatever advantage we can to end this. The girl I was five years ago would never have agreed to this plan, much less come up with it in the first place... Though, come to think of it, I still remember that feeling of dark satisfaction when Umbridge went to the centaurs.

Maybe this has always been inside me.

But there's no time for philosophy. Cho and I set the wards, both involuntarily flinching at the surge of magic. It's been so long since we've cast anything powerful without fear of detection, but at this point it won't make any difference. Cho looks over at me before handing me the chalice. I set it down with slightly shaking hands. Four years of preparation narrowed to one small cup.

If this fails...

Cho has the gloves on now, so careful not to let her skin touch the handle or blade as she holds it in front of me.

I take the knife from her, slicing across my hand so that exactly twenty-seven drops land on the sand inside, quickly sealing the skin before the blood can spread. I can almost feel the reaction, the bolt of current arcing between me and the contents. It feels far too wild and uncontrolled for what I need to accomplish.

I hope to hell that I was right about the actual ritual just being window dressing.

I break the tip of the knife into the mix- a few shards of what was left of the Mirror of Erised should be enough, although Cho's twitching at what she sees as my haphazard measurement.

It doesn't stop her from passing me the remaining pieces of the Sorting Hat, both of us now flinching for very different reasons. I've always been grateful that she's never asked how I managed to get ahold of it.

It doesn't matter now though. Anything, _anything_ to end this.

Even so, she hesitates slightly when she hands me the last container. Almost at once, I realize the reason why. "This is the last of them, isn't it?"

She nods slowly and the ache in my chest increases. If I fail there will be no more healing from the hit squad's favourite curses. I hold the last of Fawkes' tears and there is no more Fawkes to grant anymore.

"You won't fail."

Thank you, Cho.

I _won't _fail.

All I need to do is add the tears and-

"They're here!"

We're out of time.

I hope, I hope that Ginny and Jim got out.

Cho immediately goes into a defensive stance at the edge of the wards, waiting for when Hannah and Susan finally fall.

I can hear Hannah screaming, Susan's howl of anguish, but the world has narrowed to me and the cup in front of me. Just a few more drops, ignore the ache as the first of the wards fall-

"_Sectumsempra!"_

There's only one person who would know that spell and I feel the last of my hope shrivel and die. If it were just the normal run of hit squad idiots, I might have been able to stall for time, but if _he's _here, obviously someone's taking us seriously. Poor Cho's writhing on the floor now, although she's somehow keeping herself from screaming. A detached part of my mind notes that it wasn't just the cutting spell he hit her with- it looks like he also got her with a non-verbal internal, since her guts are now leaking out of her stomach.

I can't think about it. I _can't_. She's been my best friend, my strongest supporter since Remus went and broken Ginny became my last link to my old life. But her pain would be worth nothing if I fall apart. I can't stop now, even as Snape walks towards me, coolly bends over me. Some part of my mind prepares itself for the end.

"You have two minutes, Ms. Granger."

It can't be...

It _can't_ be.

Cho's lying on the floor, dying as her body turns itself inside out from his curse. But... but...

I can't afford to think this over. I need to use this time no matter why it's being given. I add the last of the phoenix tears, watch the solution dissolve into liquid even as more hooded figures remove the last of the wards, even as a familiar shock of pale hair slips out from the hood of one of them. I know that the hit squad is speaking, but the world around me has been reduced to a buzzing, pulsing thrum in my ears. The connection between me and the chalice is nearly complete. I can't help feeling that I'm missing something vital, but I don't have any choice. I'll have to take my chances with what I have.

All that is left-

"From love and from hate. From what is, what was and what will be. Bound to none. Part of all. Not to reverse, but to remake. At this end, the beginning. From this beginning, the end. So it is finished."

A part of me stifles a smile at the way the men in front of me have just _frozen_. The words aren't really important. Well at least all the notes said that the language wouldn't matter which is a sure indication of redundancy, but they might help focus the spell a bit better. One way or another, hopefully they'll distract my visitors long enough to let me finish.

Plus I'd _love _to see His face when he tries to decipher them.

It seems to be working- they're all staring at me, but nobody's moved yet. Just enough time to raise the cup to my lips and drink-

"_Incendio_."

Oh _Cho_...

She must have known that she'd never leave alive. And the house is like a tinderbox- of the little that's left here there will be no information to find once it stops burning. I have to keep drinking, even as the hit squad starts screaming, even as my robes start burning, even as the room starts fading-

"_Avada kedavra_."

Well, he did give me my two min-

_-Updated 01-26-06-_


	2. Chapter 1: Must Not Be Seen

**Author's Note**: -Waves sheepishly- Er... Forgot to include the first chapter yesterday. My apologies. Thanks to those who reviewed!

**Chapter Summary**: In which Dumbledore likes cooties, Hermione likes being an Elf Enslaver and Miffy likes braining goblins.

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros.

**Warning**: Rated M for language, violence, mature themes and adult situations. Spoilers up to and including "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince".

**Chapter 1: Must Not Be Seen**

"_**You must not be seen**. Miss Granger, you know the law- you know what is at stake ... **you - must - not - be - seen**."_

- J. K, Rowling, Albus Dumbledore in "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azakaban"

"Mistress?"

I thought I swore never to get into the lion's breath before bed again. And what the hell is Cho babbing about?

"Mistress?"

Okay. Unless Cho has shrunk three feet and aged two hundred years, something very strange is going on-

Oh Merlin.

It worked.

It _worked._

Just a confirmation now...

"Miffy?"

"Oh Mistress is awake! Miffy will get tea and help Mistress to healer-"

"No!"

Oh poor Miffy. Her ears are already flattening and it won't be anytime now before she starts asking about ironing her hands. "I mean, that's very good of you Miffy, but I don't need a healer. A little Pepperup potion should do the trick quite nicely."

Damn. It doesn't look like it's working. Miffy's about to burst into tears. "But Mistress is just appearing in the drawing room and her robes were all flaming and Mistress wasn't moving and Miffy had to bring her up to bed and she still wasn't moving and Mistress only just woke up and even if Miffy hasn't met Mistress before Miffy can feel that she is Mistress and Miffy _needs_ to make sure she isn't hurt."

Thank Circe we were right that transferred magical ownership included the house elves, even if I wasn't physically there for the transfer. Now as for Miffy...

"Miffy- I'm not hurt and I'll go drink some potion if I'm not feeling completely better in the next few minutes."

Not to mention that I better get away from her before I start referring to myself in third person and hitting my head against the wall. Out of all the stupid ideas I've come up with over the years, SPEW has to be near the top of the list. Just below destroying our only chance to kill the Dark Lord. But time to go about fixing that one up.

Miffy's obviously not completely convinced, but she's left me alone for now. It seems that at least part of what we worked for has happened- this is certainly not the house as I remember it. Minus a few burning joists for one thing, but... Now to see how accurate I was. If everything's worked somewhat correctly, I should have a subscription to the Daily Prophet. And if Miffy's followed my written instructions...

The sight of the dining room gives me a horrible, unexpected ache. This, this is what Ginny and Hannah and Susan and Cho should have been working in. Not the half-destroyed, crumbling shell we were forced to maintain to hide ourselves for as long as possible. But I'm here now. No time for regrets. They've given everything so that I can have this chance and I need to be strong enough to use it.

The papers are sitting on the table- four in all and I can hardly hold in the laugh of triumph as I pick up the top one. A month! In spite of the interruptions, the lack of ritual, the incomplete preparations, I'm only a month off!

And there it is- beside the papers, the letter that is the end result of four years worth of preparation. I force myself to pick it up and break the all-too-familiar seal.

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL **

**of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

**Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore**

**(_Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards_)**

**Dear Ms. Whittaker,**

**On behalf of Hogwart's School of Wizardry and Witchcraft, we wish to thank you for your application for the position of Potions Instructor (First through Seventh years, with emphasis on O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. preparation). As you so beautifully stated in your letter of application, we are also a research institution in addition to a teaching facility. Despite your lack of teaching credentials and previous affiliation with our institution, we have been greatly impressed by your papers in _Ars Chemica_, _Arithmancy Monthly_ and _Moderne Potions._ To confirm your suitability in other aspects we wish to arrange a formal interview for the Second of August to be conducted at the Hog's Head Inn in the village of Hogsmeade. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.**

**Yours sincerely,**

**Albus Dumbledore,**

_**Headmaster**_

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL **

**of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**

It is vaguely comforting to know that some things never change. Like Dumbledore's credentials.

And his vague air of patronization.

But I can handle a lot of patronization if it will get what needs to be done done. Now first things first. What is the actual date? I can see by the paper that it's at least July 17, but there's no indication that it has to _be_ July 17.

"Miffy?"

"Mistress called?"

She looks almost pathetically grateful to be waiting on me. Although if my information was correct, and it must have been for this to have worked, she would have been alone here for nearly fifteen years before I arrived, minus the letters I sent her way for delivery. At this point, with the nature of house elf geas, she would probably be grateful for Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Miffy- could you tell me the date?"

She doesn't even give me a funny look, so grateful to have a chance to serve.

Okay. Maybe it does still bother me. But I've learned to control the twitching.

"It is being the 21 of July, Mistress."

Alright. Still have some time then. Now to figure out how much was left undone due to the early jump.

"Miffy, it would make me feel a lot more comfortable if you referred to me as Hermione rather than Mistress. Now I was wondering how many of my notes you got about setting up the house prior to arrival? Is there anything that still needs to be organized?"

"Mistress Hermione-"

I can see I'm going to regret _that _effort.

"The house is all made as Mistress Hermione asked. Miffy is getting the things that Mistress Hermione asked for on the lists when Mistress Hermione wasn't here on the June days. And Miffy is getting Mistress Hermione Thousa so Mistress Hermione can write when she gets here. Is Miffy pleasing Mistress Hermione?"

I laugh for the first time in nearly as long as I can remember. "Miffy is _very_ much pleasing Mistress Hermione."

From what I've seen, Miffy has saved me months of trouble. I hadn't expected her to act on my _lists_, just the notes that I'd sent about the house. The lists had been for my own reference when I arrived. Now though... Now it looks like even with a missing month I may still be able to stay on track.

I feel a warm surge of affection for the house elf. Even before these last stages of preparations, even before meeting me in person, she was still kind enough to take and deliver the letters, the applications, the papers I've sent to this house over what must have been her last twelve years of solitude. She even listened to my notes to leave the responses in places I knew would still be intact in the thirty-odd intervening years. And that great hulking barn owl must be Thousa, who hardly looks like her nymph namesake. Miffy is a gem. And I'm officially an Elf Enslaver.

But now...

I dismiss her with a wave of the hand. It's dark outside and I'm exhausted and I need a few minutes to do what needs to be done before I collapse on the bed.

The master bedroom is so very different from what I remember- Miffy's obviously cleaned it up, but the house itself is so much sounder, so much less tired than the place I lived in.

And now...

I didn't have time to change before I came or to send any personal effects over- I was just lucky I always carry my wand. Unfortunately, I also didn't have time to take any personal effects _off_.

The chain slides out easily from under my nearly destroyed robes. Thank Merlin Miffy didn't try to change me. I open the locket cautiously, because really this is the most dangerous thing I could possibly possess.

Mum.

Dad.

Oh _Ron_... and-

I know what I have to do.

Hermione Granger is dead. Her memory may live in my mind, her thoughts guide my actions, but she must be completely outwardly invisible. If I am to succeed at all, I must always, always project Hermione Whittaker.

And this locket...

A simple _Evanesco_-

I...

I can't.

Not yet.

Just a little longer to hold on.

But to make up for it, I will start right away on my _other_ promise.

"Lestrange, Dolohov, Rosier, Wilkes, Scrimgeour-"

There are thirty-seven names altogether. I don't dare write them down, but they have become my mantra for four years every night before I finally let myself sleep. Taught to myself so that I will never forget what needs to be done. In hindsight, it seems a silly task.

How could I ever think I would forget?

Even when I close my eyes, the names still parade across my mind.

Lestrange. Dolohov. Rosier. Wilkes. Scrimgeour.

Soon... Very soon now.

-X-

"I already told you! I need to see Vault 707!"

I should have known that things were going too well. Despite not having the time to transfer over any of my personal belongings or books, I had been able to replace most of what I needed with the galleons that Miffy had been using from the vault of the house. It's probably just as well that I didn't bring any of my things anyways- less chance of discovery. Even if I mourn the burning of my edition of _Hogwarts, A History_ as I would the death of an old friend. Of course the first real problem I run into in all the years of preparatory work _would _be with the little weasels at Gringotts.

The evil, leathery midget in front of me isn't giving an inch. "Vault 707 is a restricted vault. Only Leontes Whittaker or his heir are allowed entrance."

I take a deep breath. "I _am_ his heir. I am Hermione Whittaker. I have the key to the vault and the paperwork that proves my claim-"

And made damn _sure _I was the heir through four years of sending back time specific documents through that Merlin-forsaken ritual while _knowing_ every single second that any moment the hit squad would show up, you snot-nosed goat sucker.

"So what exactly is the problem?"

I have to give it to the little troll- goblins are smart. They may not be able to tell what exactly is wrong, but I think they can feel a little bit of the energy, the shift in knowledge that this is not the way things are supposed to be. And I don't know how I can dispel it.

"Is nasty goblin making problems for Mistress Hermione?"

I'd forgotten all about Miffy. To be honest, I-I can't really stand to be alone right now and so I've gotten Miffy to accompany me on all of my trips out of the house. I'd asked her to go pick up my new robes from Madame Malkins while I dealt with the goblins, but obviously she'd finished early. Now... Now Miffy is quite the sight, getting right in front of the goblin, her face contorted in fury. Even more surprisingly, the goblin actually looks... scared?

"Mistress Hermione Whittaker is wanting Vault 707. You is taking her to Vault 707. You is nasty common goblin, Miffy is _house elf_."

Oh please, please tell me that's not pride. And house elves should never, ever smile like that.

"You help Mistress Hermione or Miffy is leaving pieces of common goblin brain all over nice desk. You like desk?"

Holy hippogriffs.

He's getting up and his hands are _shaking_.

"If Mistress Whittaker would come this way, please?"

I have to say that I'm pretty sure that the goblin is taking me on the nastiest possible route to the vault.

I make a mental note to let Miffy know.

Did I ever pretend to be a nice person?

It takes a lot of effort not to gasp when he finally opens the vault though. Academically I'd known that Leontes Whittaker had been well-off- he'd been from an established family and married an equally blue-blooded Muggle-born. They'd actually been quite well-known in diplomatic circles as some of the higher level North American British liaisons prior to her death and his murder. The body of their daughter had never been found, although I had done enough research to find what the investigators couldn't. The wealth, the missing only child, the absolutely perfect _timing_ had clinched the disguise. The fact that her name was Hermione only made it better. But it had never occurred to me just _how_ wealthy the family was.

The goblins must be shedding tears of blood at the thought of this finally leaving.

They don't need to worry. I only plan on using as much as I absolutely have to. Somewhere, somehow I'm sure that Leontes Whittaker will forgive me. I try to leave the house heirlooms as undisturbed as possible, only taking the gold I need to get through the next few months. I still feel a little like a grave robber as I climb back into the cart and am returned to the upper levels.

As soon as we reach the reception, Miffy bares her teeth er... 'smiles' at the goblin. The goblin whimpers. Mistress Hermione plans a pay raise.

Unfortunately, my good mood only lasts until I look down at my watch. After all the ridiculousness with the goblins, I'm now running severely behind. I'll just have to change into my new robes at Madame Malkins with the excuse of checking the fit and send Miffy home with the remainder. Fortunately, Miffy is understanding and even helps me put on the robes while turning me towards the mirror.

I...

I hardly recognize myself.

When did I get so... old?

It's not that I look physically older than twenty-three, but in the new periwinkle dress robes, my hair tied back and my eyes tired...

I guess since I left school so much has been a blur of horror and pain that I've never had to really realize that I've grown up.

And now is the time to show how much.

Taking a deep breath, I thank Madame Malkin and prepare to apparate.

Time to face the Headmaster and one of the most critical stages of the plan.

I wonder if Dumbledore conducts all his staff interviews at the Hog's Head. One would think he would have learned his lesson after Trelawney, although I guess that technically that mess has yet to happen.

Maybe in addition to socks he likes communicable diseases.

Because I don't even want to _think_ about what's living on those glasses.

"Ah, you must be Ms. Whittaker."

I have to bite back a gasp at the man in front of me. He looks so... healthy.

It makes me dramatically aware of just how much he'd aged by the time we'd met him. More than years, the ending of that first Voldemort war and the start of the second had destroyed him almost as effectively as Snape's final curse. However I still don't think I can let the old goat get completely away with that omniscient act of his.

"That's quite an assumption to make, Professor Dumbledore. How could you know I wasn't a regular client?"

Dumbledore shrugs slightly as he waves me towards a table in the corner. "You're female and you still have all your teeth."

Point to Dumbledore.

"It's certainly an er... interesting location for interviews."

There are already two glasses sitting on the table, but if he thinks I'm going to touch either of them without a _Scourgify_ he's got knocked a few too many times about the-

Oh never mind.

"Well it has an atmosphere that my office sadly lacks. And nobody makes a Lemon Niffler like Mulgrew."

The worst part is that I'm fairly sure he's not joking.

Oh... Well this is interesting.

He's turning his attention to his drink, but I can feel his mental probe start to build under the cover of a large gulp. I've learned enough not to give my thoughts away though and I keep my face schooled in pleasant disinterest as he turns towards me. It's almost childishly easy to block and redirect his fine threads of Legilimency and I wonder if this was another skill he was later forced to refine or if maybe he just doesn't have a reason to distrust me yet. Either way, it works to my advantage here and I give him what he wants to see, hoping that the memories of 'Hermione Whittaker' will be enough to convince him that I'm perfect for the position. In these times where everyone wonders if the wizard next to them is dark... I need this cover. I don't even want to think about what I will have to do if he doesn't take me.

Oh it looks like he's seen enough and now... Now for the verbal interrogation. He's turned away from me, pretending disinterest as he takes another drink from that horribly dirty glass.

"Your father died when you were quite young."

Is this meant as a trap? Hermione Whittaker would have been eleven when her father died. Not _that_ young.

"Quite young to be left on your own and raised in a foreign country by a house elf while undergoing private tutoring. Not even sent back to your father's home for instruction."

Ah. Well at least I know where he's going with this. "I'm not sure that it was originally what my father intended for my life, but I know he had some idea just before his... death of the danger he, and by extension me, were in. When he returned to England for the report... It obviously confirmed the suspicions he'd outlined in his last testament. I'm grateful for his foresight- I don't believe I would have reached adulthood without his protective measures. His Arctic home was not only Unplottable, but heavily warded and I certainly had few regrets about growing up there."

And here Dumbledore turns to face me, trying to read the lines I'm not giving him. "It certainly doesn't seem to have hurt you academically- that first article on the alternate use of monkshood in the treatment of banshee shock must have been published when you were sixteen."

"Seventeen."

I refuse to be caught out that easily. Even if it is a genuine mistake on his part.

"Still an incredible age. And then to have gone on to earn Masters designations in both Arithmancy and Potions, strictly on the basis of your academic work... But it can't have done much for your social development."

Well what do you know. He really _is_ just concerned that I'll be able to interact with the students. Now let's see if I can give him the kicker then. "Even though I was not able to attend a public institution, I was still allowed to attend certain public Muggle activities. heavily disguised and warded of course, so my social education has not been as completely lacking as you might expect. If you are concerned about my ability to interact, I'd be happy to serve a trial period where I could undergo evaluation. I'd like to think that my other credentials might serve me well enough to prompt such a risk."

He seems to have made up his mind, and I can only hold my breath-

"Well you are certainly articulate and determined."

He suddenly breaks into a genuinely happy smile and I hate, _hate_ what I've become. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Ms. Whittaker. There are a few administrative matters to take care of, but I'd be happy to take you to the castle and get Professor Vector to show you your quarters."

Merlin's _balls. _I'd forgotten about the mandatory quarters. I think I can adjust accordingly though.

"Ms. Whittaker?"

I quickly shake my head and force a smile.

"Pardon me- I was just wool-gathering. I'd be delighted to see the quarters. And please- call me Hermione. After spending so long being called by first name, I'll probably not respond very quickly to Whittaker."

Probably the first completely true thing I've said all day.

He smiles and, damn it, I think he is starting to trust me. "Then I must insist that you call me Albus. I'm sure Artemesia will be delighted to meet you- she's spoken of nothing but your papers since we got your application-"

Artemesia? Must be Professor Vector. And my is this ever going to be strange.

"You don't have to move in immediately, but we would like you to be established at least two weeks before the start of term. Unfortunately, Professor Gall is no longer available to discuss his lesson plans with you, but he left quite detailed notes and a calendar plan for each of the year levels. You are welcome to adjust them as you see fit as long as the Ministry standards are met and preparation for O.W.Ls and N.E.W.T.s is fulfilled. It might be easier initially at least though to follow Professor Gall's plan. If you have any questions at all, feel free to come speak with me. The best person to speak to for lessons though would probably be our Herbology professor Pomona Sprout who has a well-developed understanding of potions and often coordinated lessons with Professor Gall. Unfortunately, most of the staff is currently not in-house, but we will have a full staff meeting on the fifteenth of August where I hope to introduce you. Do you have any questions before I take you to meet Artemesia?"

I know that I _should_ have questions, but things have been going so well that I think that I will be much better served by keeping my mouth shut. Unfortunately shaking my head gets me a strange glance from Dum-_Albus._

"Not even about your pay?"

I shrug, trying hard to keep a blush off my face. "The terms laid out in the initial advertisement were more than satisfactory and I assumed that I could just arrange for a direct deposit to my Gringotts' account."

He gives me that queer, appraising glance of his, so familiar in the future, but looking very odd on his younger face. "You are undoubtedly determined to be satisfied. And far be it from me to interfere with a witch's satisfaction."

My former Headmaster did not just make a sexual innuendo.

My former Headmaster did not just _wink_ at me after making a sexual innuendo.

If I didn't need therapy before, I definitely need it now.

Still in a state of shock, I hardly notice him pulling out the portkey and touching it to my hand. I hate the pull of the portkeys, but I hate even more the feeling of standing in front of the Hogwarts' gates once again. I don't know how I'm going to do this. It takes all my energy to maintain a pleasantly neutral expression until we reach the entrance.

The woman waiting for us looks strangely familiar-

"Professor Vector- I'm pleased to be able to introduce you to our new Potions Professor, Hermione Whittaker."

Ah that explains it.

Although it doesn't explain why she's staring at my face with a barely concealed expression of horror.

Have I somehow given myself away?

What will I do if I've been exposed-

Oh wait.

My scar.

It's been so long since I've really interacted with anyone outside the girls and Miffy that I'd almost forgotten the effect of my scar. It's only a thin silver line now, running between my cheekbone and my jaw, but it tends to provoke fairly strong reactions. Come to think of it, Albus didn't react, although that's probably because he's seen many worse things than a disfigured recluse. If nothing else though, she's now blushing after realizing her poor manners, making it much easier to win her over.

No, I'm not ashamed to win through pity, thank you very much.

"I'm delighted to meet you. Albus mentioned that you'd enjoyed my papers and I admit to being thrilled to meet the author of 'The Predictive Trends of Kneazle Birth Rates in Relation to the Application of Seven and Twelve."

And yes- I've got her. That smile is far too fast to be forced. "I'm just thrilled to have someone to discuss theory with. You must call me Artemesia- it's such a shame that you have to take quarters in the dungeon, but I'll show you _all_ the special exits so you can spend as little time there as possible. Now tell me- what do you think of Gormenghast's latest theory?"

I smile and follow my future-former professor. I _will_ succeed. I _will_ make Hermione Granger invisible.

And even as I follow Artemesia, the locket under my robes swings to the beat of my lie.

_Updated 01-27-06_


End file.
